


The Man Named Griffith

by SaltNTang



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 13:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltNTang/pseuds/SaltNTang
Summary: After facing a shitty cold, Guts found himself unwillingly getting pampered by a man who called himself Griffith.





	The Man Named Griffith

Guts was sick. 

No, not some deadly plague or disease that’s otherwise un-treatable, but a cold which made his chest rattle every time he exhaled and his throat tighten in pain every time he spoke. Guts felt utterly bed-ridden. His muscles felt sore, more sore than nights after a gruesome battle with Apostles. More sore than a wound scabbing over and the skin straining when he stretched his limbs.

The heavy rain outside didn’t help whatsoever. He was soaking wet. His heavy clothing felt like wet metal against his dry skin, weighing him down like chains on a hound.

So here he was, the Black Swordsman, after renting a room, finding himself lying down in bed at some shitty inn that was louder than a nightclub, making his headache throb every time he heard some dumb old man yell out drunkenly. The noises soaked through the thin walls of his room, making his rage skyrocket, but his illness forcing him unable to act on that rage. 

Guts closed his eyes, sighing out irritably. Though his surroundings were loud and annoying, he found himself easily able to block out any obnoxious noises, his mind flooding with the sound of soft mutters, his eyelids far too heavy to carry. The black void devoured his eyesight and his consciousness.

————————-

Guts eyes danced under his eyelids dazedly before cracking his eyes open. Despite catching up on some “quality” sleep, he found himself feeling worse than the day before. 

Maybe it had to do with the fact that he slept with wet clothing from the night before. 

The window above his bed allowed in soft rays of light to penetrate and warm his chest, despite the situation at hand. Forcing himself to sit up with a loud creak, Guts turned his head when a small knock met the door to his room. 

An elderly woman’s voice spoke out gingerly,  
“Forgive me, but a customer has requested that room 12 was supplied with some fresh clothing. I’ll leave it here.”

Guts waited until he no longer heard steps before standing up and opening the wooden door to his room.

He was greeted with a large basket, from here, he was able to catch a glimpse of a lengthy white night shirt, paired with simple loose white pants. Underneath were black boxers lined with large stitching along the hem, as well as a pair of white socks.  
It was nice.

Guts furrowed his brow. Too nice. Who the hell sent him this shit?

He glanced both ways down the short hall way, finding no presence indicating someone who could have paid for the gift basket.  
Moreover, who was keen enough among the drunk bastards last night to have noticed what room Guts rented for the night, and the fact that he was wet from the rain? He had no recollection of making direct contact with anyone.

Grabbing his sword, Guts tied the large blade to his armor before stepping over the basket and making his way down into the inn’s lounge area.

A sly voice from behind stopped Guts from making his way down the creaky, wooden stairs.

“You know, it’s not nice rejecting someone’s gift.” 

Guts turned towards the voice, making eye contact with blue irises. A slim man, with soft, long white locks and form-fitting commoner clothing continued walking toward Guts, until there was only a small space between them.

Guts scowled. He didn’t feel like dealing with this shit. Opening his mouth to retaliate, the white-haired man cut him off.

“You’re flushed.” He smirked, caressing Gut’s cheek gingerly. His fingers felt soft, his palm was decorated with calluses. 

So he was a swordsman too. Guts noted.

Pushing the man’s hand away, Guts furrowed his brow, casually using the stair case railing behind him to balance himself on his shaky knees. 

“What’s it to you?” The Black Swordsman spoke out in irritation. 

“I’m Griffith. What’s your name?” 

Guts scowled. “Guts.”

Deciding the conversation was over, Guts made his way down the stairs, more slowly than he would’ve wanted. A wave of nausea hit him all at once, and the need to puke made itself apparent.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Running towards the nearest trash can, Guts hurled his stomach out—which didn’t consist of much. He gagged loudly, clenching the sides of the trash can tightly, his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to limit the tears pooling in his lids.

A soft hand placed itself on his back, making Guts flinch in slight surprise. He turned his head back, making eye contact once again, with the man who called himself Griffith. 

Griffith only smiled, rubbing the man’s shoulder much like a mother would with her sick child. 

Guts cleared his throat, moving to stand up.

“Fine.” The man muttered gruffly, “I’ll wear the stupid fuckin’ clothes.” 

————————

Guts assured himself several times that after changing into warm, dry clothing, he would catch up on another hour or so of sleep in his room. 

The white devil, however, clearly had another plan in mind, as he coaxed Guts to settle down in his room, which was much, much more spacious, and the bed was soft, much softer than his own. Guts wouldn’t admit it, but the bedding smelled like flowers, the pillows like wet soil on a warm, rainy summer evening. It made him uncharacteristically drowsy. 

Griffith watched the man settle in his bed, smiling faintly. 

“Guts, was it? You’re sick, right? I have some herbal tea, I’ll make you some, to sooth your throat.” He spoke, finding it difficult to keep his hands off Guts. He knew the man beneath him would retaliate, however, his climbing fever disallowed him from rejecting Griffith’s touchy actions.

Swallowing with a wince, Guts closed his eyes, turning away on his side to face the wall.

“Whatever.” He muttered.

Griffith smiled, pulling away from the man on his bed to start the tea pot sitting on the small stove. 

————

Guts awoke, throwing himself to sit up in a confused panic, he stood up and off the previously inviting bed, dashing toward his sword, which was leaning against the wooden wall. His vision danced from the sudden action of standing, causing him to stumble and crash into the floor beneath him.

Griffith’s arrival back to the room couldn’t have been worse, the sight of Guts on his hands on knees, gazing up at him widely caused Griffith to inappropriately laugh. Covering his mouth and smiling widely. 

“Guts..? How did you end up there?” He snorted, his lips trembling in an attempt to hold his laugh.

Guts scowled, moving to sit up while grumbling, “I..uh..” He began, finding it hard to find his thoughts. 

Griffith bent down, brushing his hand across the man’s cheek with a fond smile. “I bought some pastry bread. Let’s have some together.”

Finding his stomach grumbling in protest against not eating for a day, Guts couldn’t stop himself from agreeing. The sweet smell of freshly-baked pastry bread making him salivate.


End file.
